


The Moz Chronicles: When Conspiracies Come True

by Treon



Series: Free as a Bird 'verse [14]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Gen, How to be a criminal mastermind 101, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: Every Bond needs his Q, and every flashy thief needs a criminal mastermind hiding behind him to do all the heavy liftingPart of the "Free as a Bird" series, an AU in which Neal never escaped from prison and never made a deal with the FBI.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey & Mozzie
Series: Free as a Bird 'verse [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/47461
Comments: 28
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

_In the corner of a darkened, cavernous storeroom, a short-statured man sat by an old-style desk. An old-style table lamp lit his face as he typed away on an old-style typewriter. The clacking of the keys was frequently punctuated by the ring of the machine as it ran through its paces._

_"Neal Caffrey is a household name, almost. His exploits make the headlines. But a heist requires a lot of planning, and a lot of work, most of which is done behind the scenes, and never makes the papers. This is where I come in. Every Bond needs his Q, and every flashy thief needs a criminal mastermind hiding behind him to do all the heavy lifting."_

_"Only the best of the best can aspire to this job. To illustrate the requirements, let's take a completely theoretical scenario."_

_Mozzie pressed the carriage return on his typewriter, and turned the knob to add a few blank lines to the paper. He smiled as he remembered one of the best days of his life. Then he cracked his knuckles and continued typing._

For Neal, it didn't start off as such a great day.

In the BPE (Before Prison Era), Neal sometimes enjoyed going to the gym. Once he started running from the law, he couldn't keep up with it. It was hard finding a gym when you ended up in a new town every week or two. After he was arrested, and had to spend a few years confined to a tiny little cell, his tastes in exercising changed. Now, he preferred jogging in the great outdoors, or doing laps in the pool. Those little pleasures that were denied him in Sing Sing.

As he settled into his new home at the kind invitation of June, he picked up a new routine. He started going to the Y in the mornings, did his 50 laps, and then walked downtown until he found a nice cafe where he would sit down for breakfast.

This morning was no different. He came out of the pool dripping wet and padded over to where he had put his towel. He quickly patted himself dry, then settled the towel round his hips and exited towards the locker room.

He was just about to open his locker, when a voice called out to his left. "Neal Caffrey?"

The speaker was a youngish woman, heading in his direction. Behind her, a man stood at the entrance to the row of lockers, blocking any attempt to run. A glance to his right, verified that his exit path was blocked in that direction by another agent. 

Everything about them screamed 'law enforcement'. Tough, lean, armed, and wearing a Brooks Brothers Suit. 

The woman flashed a badge. "Secret Service. You're under arrest for counterfeiting."

Whatever these people were on about, he had nothing to do with it, and there weren't many times when he could truthfully say that. "Can I see that badge again?"

With a long, drawn-out sigh, the Secret Service agent took out her badge again, holding it in front of Neal's eyes. "Happy?"

"Not really." He was all about telling the truth these days.

"Step away form the locker. Nice and slow."

"Seriously?" Neal couldn't help but laugh. 

Nobody else joined in the laughter.

Neal quickly sobered up. "You're serious."

"Turn around and put your hands behind your back," she instructed.

"I'm wearing a towel!"

The agent considered that. "You have clothes in your locker?"

Neal nodded.

"Then open it."

Neal was almost certain there was nothing incriminating in that locker. He didn't relish the thought of grubby police hands having access to his stuff, but the thought of sitting in an interrogation room in nothing but his wet speedo for who knows how many hours was even less enticing. 

He stepped forward and opened the locker. He was going to reach in for his clothes, but the Secret Service agent pushed him back.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." 

"Okay, okay." Neal hurried to hold up his hands.

The agent reached in and found a shirt and pants. She quickly checked them over, then pushed them into Neal's hands. "Get dressed," she ordered.

"You-" Neal gave up on trying. He dropped the still-wet towel on the floor, and slipped on the clothing. He was quite aware that all eyes were on him as he did so. 

When he finished, a pair of shoes was thrust into his hands. He dutifully put them on.

"Take off your watch."

He looked down at his waterproof smart-watch. But he took it off as instructed. It was thrown into his locker.

Surprisingly, the agents didn't use the opportunity to turn his locker inside out. "Now. Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

Neal hesitated for just a bit, but he didn't really have much choice. He turned around, and let them snap on their handcuffs.

It was as if law-enforcement were doing this on purpose. He was going to perp-walked yet again, from yet another place where people were just getting to know him. Where everybody was friendly and always smiled and said hello. What would these people think of him next time he comes for a swim? 

Well, there was nothing to do about it.

He was frog-marched out, people stopping to stare and whisper as he passed by. He tried to ignore it. 

Outside, an SUV was waiting for him. Before he was pushed into the back, one of the men produced a blindfold and tied it around Neal's eyes.

"What the hell?" This was definitely not a regular arrest. 

The two men got in and sat on both his sides, making sure he wasn't going anywhere. 

"So," he tried, as the SUV merged into traffic. "Where are we going?"

In response, one of them pressed something cold and sharp into his side. It was unmistakably a gun.

"No talking," was the only order he got.

No, this was definitely not your usual arrest.

But he was not going down quietly. Without noticeably moving, his hands reached for the hem of the back of his shirt, where he had sewn in a pin for just such emergencies.


	2. Chapter 2

The ride seemed to take forever, and Neal lost count of the number of turns the car took. But he was pretty sure they hadn't left Manhattan. In fact, if he was a betting man, and he usually was, he'd say they weren't far from where he was picked up. They were just going in circles in order to throw him off.

Neal tried to think who he had pissed off. It was quite obvious to him this wasn't the Secret Service. After going through his recent capers, he realized, sadly, that there might be quite a few options. He had helped the FBI a few times, too many times than he'd have liked. Maybe somebody who now faced a lifetime behind bars had decided to get back at him. 

Though it didn't make sense that any of his underworld acquaintances would go to all this trouble. A gun would have worked just as well as a badge, if not much better. It was easy, and it was way more final. 

He racked his brain. Why would _anybody_ go to all this trouble?

The car finally slowed down, and Neal felt it dip down as it entered an underground garage. Neal was marched, still blindfolded, his Italian leather shoes echoing around him. His captors, walking silently besides him, were obviously wearing rubber soles. Not exactly the uniform dress shoes of the up-and-coming office-based Secret Service agent.

They all crowded into what Neal assumed was an elevator. He could feel the breath of one of the men on the nape his neck. The elevator glided up silently. Neal cleared his throat, but nobody said a word. Neal was then guided through a maze of corridors, until they finally got to their destination. Neal heard a door open, and he was pushed in.

It was only at this point, that his captors realized he wasn't cuffed.

He found himself up against the wall, with somebody's hands grabbing his shirt. 

"How the hell did you pick those cuffs??" That was the female agent yelling at him.

"I told you to strip search him!" A male voice joined in.

"He was practically naked!" she shouted back.

"Well, obviously that wasn't good enough! He must have hidden a pick somewhere!"

"Let him go," a quiet voice intruded.

Neal felt his captors move away, and he used the opportunity to snatch the blindfold off. 

He blinked in the sudden glare. He was in a bland meeting room - no windows, no pictures, a long table with 12 chairs around it. His captors were here, as well as another older man. He did not have the military build, but he was obviously in charge. 

"What is going on here?" this man asked.

A slight hesitation before the female agent answered. "He was trying to get away."

"Was he?" the man looked Neal over. "Well, you can't blame the mouse for the hole."

"Sir-"

"I expect to see your full report later."

"Yes, sir." 

The three quickly disappeared out the door.

Neal rubbed his wrists as he tried to get his bearings. He still couldn't figure this out. This didn't look like an interrogation room. Though he could spot two cameras on both corners of the room.

The man reached out to shake his hand. "John Bellner."

Neal did not respond to the offer, and Bellner finally put down his hand. "I apologize, Mr. Caffrey, but we had to keep this meeting secret." He took a spot at one end of the table, and gestured for Neal to sit. 

Neal ignored his offer, again. "All this for a _meeting_?"

"I can understand you're upset, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal snorted. "You think? You had me dragged out in cuffs, blindfolded, threatened with a gun-" he ticked off the points on his fingers.

"You're not a prisoner," Bellner answered calmly. "If you wish to leave, I'll call the extraction team, and we'll send you back." He waited till he had Neal's full attention. "But I'd rather you first sit down, and listen."

Neal considered that, and took a chair across from Bellner. Despite his anger, he was curious. And he wasn't looking forward to those three so-called agents driving him back to the Y. "So, why am I here?"

"We'd like to hire you for a job." 

"Who's we?" he asked. The man was being friendly, but he did not buy that charade. "I suppose you're not the Secret Service."

"We're a Federal agency," Bellner responded. 

"The US Government?" Neal clarified.

"That's right. And we'd like you to steal something."

"Steal what?"

"That's on a need to know basis."

"From where?"

"That's also on a need to know basis." Bellner paused, to emphasize his next point. "First you need to agree to do the job."

Neal smiled a tight smile. "You realize I no longer do that sort of stuff."

That led to another chuckle. "Right. Mr. Caffrey, you recently broke into the Chinese Consul's home, and-"

Neal interrupted, "I was acquitted of that charge by a court of law."

The other man smiled. "You must have had a good lawyer."

"That's-"

"The truth." The man continued over Neal's objections. "We had a team outside the consul's home that night. We were quite impressed, and we need you to do another job for us."

Neal was not buying this. If there were Feds outside, it would have come up during the trial.

Bellner seemed to read his mind. "We're not the FBI and we're not interested in your petty crimes, Mr. Caffrey. Now, this is a matter of national security, and it's rather urgent."

Of course it would be. "I understand that, but I-"

"We'll pay you 50,000 dollars."

That caught Neal's attention. "You'll pay me?" He wasn't sure he heard right.

"That's right."

"For stealing something for you."

"That's right. We will transfer the money to whichever account you want us to. It will be untraceable."

Neal's eyes narrowed. This sounded beyond ludicrous. The US government wanted him to steal something? Maybe this was the FBI's way of throwing him off balance and trying to get him to confess? 

Though if this was a setup, it was the weirdest way anybody had ever gone about it. "Why don't you use your own people? Why me?"

The older man leaned forward. "Because we need the best."

Neal smiled at the compliment. "You're good."

"I tell it as it is."

"Okay, so let me take a stab at it. You want me to do something you'd rather not get caught doing."

Bellner didn't blink. "I'm not going to lie, we don't want to start an international incident. However, we do need the best. We have one shot at this, and we can't fail."

He could see Neal was wavering. "We'll transfer you 10K now, the rest upon delivery. Are you in or out?"

Neal suspected this 'Bellner' already knew the answer. He hadn't sat here this long in order to walk out. "I'm in."

"As I'm sure you're aware, we're in the midst of an intelligence war of-sorts with the Chinese."

"A war?"

"They send people over here to acquire various bits of technology. We try to stop them."

"Okay.." Neal waited for the guy to get to the point.

"Two days ago, a Chinese scientist stole several vials of top-secret serum. As far as we know, they're in their Consulate, but they could be sent out any day. We want those vials back"

"A serum of what?" Neal wanted to know.

"It's top-secret," Bellner responded with a quiet smile. "That means it's above your pay-grade."

He pushed back his chair and got up. "We'll give you all the information we have on the consulate, but after that, you're on your own."

Apparently, the meeting was being monitored, because at that moment, a man came in lugging a cart filled with boxes. He put down a legal pad and pencil in front of Neal, and then left.

Bellner was about to leave the room as well, but then turned back. "Oh, and if you try to screw us, you or your friend, we'll make sure-"

"What friend?" Neal asked innocently.

"Your 'mastermind' friend."

Neal didn't show any sign of recognition. "I don't know what-"

Bellner stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Let me spell it out for you, Mr. Caffrey. We have quite the dossier on you, and your associates. If need be, we'll use it."

"You're blackmailing me?" 

"I'm making sure we understand each other. When we want to put somebody away, we don't mess around like the FBI. We'll make sure you never see the light of day again." He softened. "I'll leave you here to review the material. Take as many notes as you want, but be aware that they'll be reviewed before you leave."

He left the room, leaving Neal to ponder whether he'd just made a deal with the devil.


	3. Chapter 3

"I knew it! I knew it!" Mozzie could not help grinning, as he repeated that mantra. "What did I tell you?"

Neal sighed. He knew it wasn't going to be easy to update Moz. He was warned not to tell anybody about this, but he needed Mozzie's help. Besides, he figured that even if Moz told everybody he knew that he was helping the US government steal top-secret something or other from the Chinese, nobody was going to believe him.

They were both lying on lounge chairs on June's veranda, sipping pinot noir and enjoying the evening breeze. Neal had taken his time, but had finally confessed to the events of the day. Mozzie's reaction was rather... expectable.

"I knew it!" Mozzie blurted once again.

"I told you you were right," Neal repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"What did you say that they said about me?"

Neal just shook his head, and emptied his glass, reaching for the bottle on the floor for a refill.

Mozzie grinned from ear to ear, enjoying his moment of validation. "You do realize," he told his friend, "that you have no idea who you're working for."

"Does it matter?" Neal leaned back in his chair.

"You could be working for the Russians, or the Chinese, or the-"

"Or the American Government," Neal supplied.

"That isn't much better," Mozzie retorted.

"So what do you want me to do? Go to the FBI and complain that I've been offered a job?"

"You could call your buddy in a suit."

Neal glanced at Moz. This was not how he thought the conversation would go. 

"Or maybe it's an FBI trick," Mozzie continued to muse, waving his wine glass in the air. "This way they can catch you in the act."

"By sending me to the Chinese consulate?"

"Hmmm," Mozzie pondered that one. "Good point. On the other hand," he raised a finger to emphasize his point, "maybe that's what they're after. You'll never suspect they're behind it."

Neal was starting to get a headache. Wine and convoluted Mozzie conspiracies never mixed well.

"You do realize the Chinese don't really like you," Moz added.

Neal preferred not to answer that one. "Can you help me with this job?"

The thunderous denunciations ended with one simple word. "Sure."

Mozzie sipped his wine slowly, stealing a glance at Neal. "Do you have any idea where this top-secret government agency is located?"

Neal shrugged. "I never left Manhattan."

"That narrows it down.. Somewhat."

"Possibly tall building, underground parking..." Neal continued.

"That doesn't narrow it down at all."

"I can give you the floorplan of the floor I was on."

Mozzie's smile returned. "That's more like it."

\-------

_"For this job, I had obtained the consulate's blueprints and all other building permit papers. There was a lot you could learn from bureaucratic processes._

_Then I wrangled my sources and got a job on the Consulate's cleaning crew. That didn't give me access to the more secure parts of the consulate, but it was better than nothing, and we were short on time.  
_

_Next, I rented a condo in the high-rise right across from the consulate. Under an assumed identity, of course. Mr. Smyth was was an eccentric British businessman, with flashy red-hair, a prominent mole on his nose and overbearing English. He was spending some time in the city and needed an apartment on a monthly basis. The real estate agent spent the better part of an hour showing me the apartment, and was gratified when I said I'll take it._

_We weren't going to use that apartment for more than a week, and I had to assume the Feds would be swarming the place after our heist went down._

_All of this preparations took a couple of days. Hopefully, our target was still in place._

_The night of the job, we were both standing in our new condo, looking out towards the consulate. I scanned the mostly darkened building with my binoculars. There was a party ongoing on the first floor, courtesy of Neal's anonymous donation to the American Friends of China. We wanted to make sure the offices would be empty. And it would serve us later for the getaway._

_"Perfect," I said. Of course, I've planned it, so it would be._

_Neal was dressed in all black - black pants and a black turtleneck sweater, with all his equipment in a black backpack. He raised an arrow rifle and shot a line towards the Consulate's roof. He pulled the line towards him until it caught, then he expertly wrapped it around the hook we put into the ceiling. He tested the line, to make sure it didn't give. "Well, here we go. Wish me luck."_

_"If they catch you, I'll think of you every time I eat Chinese food."_

_"What happened to 'break a leg'?" he asked._

_I smiled. "See you on the other side."  
_

_Neal gave me one of his patented grins, and put on a ski mask. Then he was whizzing down the line, towards the consulate._

_I put my binoculars back to my eyes, and watched him as he slid down, barely visible in the night.  
_

_Once he reached his destination, he took out a pocket knife and cut through the line. He gave me a thumbs up. I quickly pulled it back towards me. The rifle, the line, all of it - nothing was going to be here when the Feds came."_

_\-------_

Neal hurried towards an air-conditioning vent on the roof. Once inside, he dug through his backpack and removed night-vision goggles, which he put on. They did not want to risk a flashlight. Stray lights led to questions and security guards coming to check what's wrong. 

Mozzie had given him instructions on how to get to the Consul's offices. It did not take long to get there.

When he removed the A/C vent opening, he saw that the lights were on. He pulled off his goggles and carefully surveyed the scene below. It looked exactly as he'd expected it to look. It was a rather large office, with an imposing desk in the center, and a smallish conference area to the side with a round table and several chairs. A large filing cabinet took up an entire wall, right below him. On the other side was a large safe - his target for this mission. Large windows were situated behind the desk, and across from them, a door to the outer offices. 

He squirmed through the vent opening, and as he dropped onto the filing cabinet below, his foot hit a planter and it crashed to the ground. Not a great start. He stopped to pull the grating back into place, then jumped down, avoiding the mess of pottery, soil and ferns. He looked around, his mind racing through the options. Nobody was supposed to be in the area, but he couldn't know that for sure. He crossed over to the window, and opened the rightmost one, just enough to let a blast of air inside.

Then, keeping low to avoid the windows, he made his way to the safe. He had no idea in advance what he was going to be facing, so he was quite relieved when he realized he'd had some experience with this particular model. He fingered the dial, then, before he turned it, he checked the handles. The doors swung open.

He was either extremely lucky, or somebody was around. If the latter was true, he didn't have a lot of time. 

Neal grinned as he checked the contents. The vials were inside, exactly as he'd been told to expect. Four vials sat in a carrying case. There was also a lot of money. Stacks and stacks of crisp one-hundred dollar bills filled up one shelf. Neal had hit the jackpot. Another shelf held documents. Neal took out one and flipped through it. It was handwritten in Chinese.

He took out a bag, and reached for the vials first. This was, after all, what he'd been contracted for. He had brought his own travel container, filled with foam material to cushion the vials. He carefully took out the vials and put them in his container, which he then carefully put in his backpack. He couldn't fit a lot of money in there, but he could fill it up as much as possible. He picked up a couple of stacks and was putting them into his backpack when he heard the door start to open.

He pushed the safe door closed, grabbed his bag and dived under the desk. He heard somebody come in, and stop as they took in the mess he'd left by the file cabinet.

Soon enough, the person came into view, as they checked the open window. It was a young, Asian woman, in some official looking uniform of a skirt and a blazer. She had a file in her hands, and Neal assumed she must be part of the consul's staff. Neal burrowed deeper under the desk. 

Her brow furrowed at the window, but then she closed it. With a sigh, she dropped down the file on the desk, and left the room. She soon returned, and Neal could hear her make quick work of the mess. She then threw it all into the trash, and tied up the bag inside.

Her legs appeared in front of Neal as she moved the file on the desk, carefully positioned so that the desk's owner would see it first thing in the morning. In another time and place, he might have asked her out. Now, he just froze in place and hoped she wouldn't see him.

She looked around and then she moved towards the safe. Neal thought fast. The minute she opened the safe, she'd notice the vials were missing. The room had two exits that he knew of, the door and the window. If he tried going for the door, he'd be arrested by security quickly enough. He could try making it to the window, but he was a floor above street level. On the other hand, a broken leg might be better than being arrested by Chinese Security. The Chinese didn't really like him, and NYPD had no jurisdiction here.

Luckily, the woman didn't even bother looking at the safe or checking its contents. She just twirled the dial, made sure the safe was closed, then turned and clicked the lights off as she left. Neal heard the lock turn.

Neal exhaled slowly.

He reached into his backpack and took out his night-vision goggles. The room around him sprung into view as he adjusted the lens. 

Technically, he could make his exit now. He had the vials, and that's all that mattered. But it was a damn shame to leave now without getting those millions of dollars.


	4. Chapter 4

Neal crawled out from under the desk, and looked about the room, thinking. That money would be a nice bonus for all his troubles, and his new government boss hadn't specified that he _couldn't_ take anything else. But where would he put all that cash, and how could he possibly carry it all out?

His gaze stopped at the round meeting table, then slowly climbed up. Maybe he didn't need to carry anything out.

Neal dropped his bag aside as he clambered up the table. Like many offices, the room had a false ceiling, made up of large, white panels. Straightening up, he reached up to move the tile above him aside, revealing a gaping hole behind it. Perfect.

He jumped down from the table and approached the safe. Cracking his knuckles, he got to work. In the quiet office, he could hear the click as each cylinder popped into place. It took him barely fifteen minutes to open the safe. The door swung open to reveal his new treasure. 

He grabbed as many piles of cash as he could, and started heaping it on the table. He repeated the process until the safe was clean of dollars. Then he hoisted himself back up to the table, and started stacking the piles above the ceiling panels, spreading it out so it wouldn't be too heavy and cause the ceiling to come crashing down.

He was about to make his exit, when he noticed the drawings on the wall. Three small drawings, showing cute, little kittens at play. He carefully took them out of their frames, rolled them up tightly and stuck them in his bag. There was always room for kitten drawings.

\------

His next stop was the consulate's mailroom. This was part of Mozzie's 'brilliant' plan.

_"The sticky point of our entire plan was how to get the vials out of the building. Out plan required Neal to walk out of the building, but he definitely couldn't do that with a bulky backpack. Even the traveling case we prepared for the vials would be too obtrusive._

_My idea - simple yet brilliant - was to have the consulate do the work for us._

_My day of work in the consulate's cleaning crew netted me a look at their mailroom. I couldn't give it more than a cursory glance as I collected the trash, but that was more than enough for what we needed..._

_Neal just needed to prepare the vials to be mailed out, all the materials needed were right there, and drop the package in the outgoing mail cart."  
_

Simple. 

The only thing they had not considered was that the mailroom would still be staffed at this hour of the night. The place was lit up, and Neal counted at least two people at their desks, preparing stacks of envelopes. What was it with these people? Didn't they have a party to go to?

Neal gritted his teeth as he quietly put the A/C vent back into place. So much for great ideas. 

_"It should be noted, as every criminal mastermind knows, that not all great ideas turn out as planned."_

Neal rolled his eyes.

Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. He had to get out of the consulate, before somebody discovered his break-in and sounded the alarm. 

Neal's next stop was the bathrooms. He made sure the place was empty before he dropped down into the room. He got down on one knee and rummaged in the cabinet under the sink till he found what he was looking for: A "restroom closed for cleaning" sign. He popped it outside the door. 

Now he could get to work.

Standing before the mirror, he took a moment to appreciate his posh thief look. 

Now, what was he supposed to do with the vials? 

He smiled at his image as a new idea started forming. 

He removed his sweater, revealing a pinkish dress-shirt underneath. He unbuttoned his shirt and put it aside.

Then he took his ski mask, and started tearing it up. Soon, he had a long strip of knitted material in hand, which he wrapped around his chest. Taking out the vials from his bag, he carefully inserted them into the loops, snug against his body. He really hoped those vials did not break. He did not want to learn about this top-secret serum firsthand.

Then he put on his shirt again. It was almost unnoticeable.

A knock on the door told Neal that somebody was out there, getting antsy. "I'll be done in a minute," he called out.

He took the rolled up drawings and stuck them under his sleeve. 

His turtleneck went into his bag, and the whole caboodle went into the trash. He threw in a few crumpled-up paper towels to ensure it didn't stand out. He assumed the cleaning crew would find it, but whether they notified security or not, he'd be long gone by then. 

Only then did Neal finally take off his gloves and stuck them in his pants pockets.

He washed his hands and face, patting them clean with a towel, then he took a quick look at himself in the mirror. He straightened his shirt. He looked the perfect picture of a young man about town. He was ready for his next act. 

He exited the bathroom, flashing an apologetic look at the edgy guy standing outside. He was now in the main entrance hall, surrounded by happy, socializing people. Most of them were Chinese, but he was by far not the only foreigner in the place, so he didn't stand out. 

Neal grabbed a champagne glass off a passing tray, and sipped it as he scanned the room. The next part of the plan required him to simply walk out of the consulate. Slowly, casually, he made his way over to the exit, stopping by one group of chatting people, then another, so as not to draw attention.

"Mr. Neal Caffrey?" 

Neal spun around to find two consulate security officers behind him.

"Would you please come with us, sir?" one of them said. 

So much for unobtrusively making an exit.

Neal flashed a smile. "Of course."


	5. Chapter 5

  
One of the security officers took Neal's champagne glass from his hand. "Please come with us."

Neal itched to run, but the two were now blocking his way to the exit. "What is this about?" 

One of the security officers got in his face. "Don't play dumb, Mr. Caffrey. We know exactly why you are here."

"You do...?" Neal wondered how they could possibly know.

The security officer sneered. "An art thief at an art exhibition. It doesn't take a genius."

Ah. Well, maybe their plan hadn't taken everything into account. 

They had donated a little Chinese statuette out of their stash, to ensure a smooth getaway. According to the plan, having a party would enable Neal to melt into the crowd and leave without anybody being the wiser. Instead, it made Neal stand out. 

The security officer pushed Neal forward. "Let's go. We're not going to let you get away this time with stealing our national treasures."

"You got it all wrong." Neal lifted his hands in innocence. "I'm not here to _steal_ the art, I'm here to _view_ it. I-"

But before he could finish his sentence, he heard a familiar voice shouting. "You thief!" 

Neal stopped and turned, as did his two escorts. His eyes widened at the sight of Peter Burke, marching towards him, finger pointing.

"You thief!" Peter repeated. "You took my, uh... " he hesitated for just a split second. "My watch!"

Peter got up close and personal and put his hand into Neal's pants pocket. A second later he pulled it out, his watch in hand. "See??"

"Look, I-" 

But before Neal could utter more, Peter grabbed his shirt. "Don't try to weasel out of it. I know your type!"

People were slowly falling silent, turning to see what the commotion was all about.

Neal stole a glance at the two security officers, they looked unsure what to do.

He wasn't sure what the FBI agent was up to, but he was not about to lose an opportunity. "I didn't take anything. I found the watch."

Peter completely disregarded this. "Where's the police?"

Neal raised his hands, trying to ward off the other man, who still held him close in a grip of steel. "I didn't-"

"Who else did you steal from, huh?"

The Consul approached the two men. "What is going on here?" He turned to the security officers in staccato Chinese, they tried to answer, but he steamrolled right over them. 

Neal and Peter exchanged a quick look.

Finally, the Consul turned to them. "We do not want a scene here. Please leave, now."

"But, this man-" Peter started.

"This man is unwelcome here, and so are you. Please leave." 

Neither Neal nor Peter were going to argue further.

Peter frog-marched Neal out and continued walking until they were out of sight of the consulate. He finally let go of the other man. "What the hell were you thinking? Next time you enter the Chinese Consulate, you might not make it out."

"Yeah, I got that." Neal took a deep breath, and straightened his shirt. "You didn't have to be so physical about it."

Peter shook his head in frustration. "You could have caused an international incident in there!"

Little did Peter know.

"So, what were you doing in there?" the agent continued asking.

Neal glanced around. "Are your FBI buddies lurking around?"

"Neal!"

"Fine." He looked at Peter, completely serious. "I was sent by a top-secret agency to infiltrate the consulate and steal sensitive information."

Peter's jaw went slack. But after a few seconds ticked by, his face broke into a grin. "You've turned into James Bond, uh?" He chuckled at his own joke.

"Something like that."

"Right." Peter obviously did not believe a word. "I know exactly what you were planning there, Neal. But once, just once, I'd like to know how you thought you could sneak into the Chinese Consulate, of all places. You realize they don't like you."

"So I've heard," Neal answered.

"And yet, here you are." 

Neal sighed.

  
_"The frontman doesn't always know all the details, and that's how it should be. It's his job to do the job, it's my job to ensure that he can do it. It's sometimes even advantageous that the frontman is really surprised, and not just feigning it."_

_"It wasn't hard to get the Fed to the Chinese Consulate. A few words carelessly spoken next to a known CI about a possible job by Neal Caffrey. A lavish party put on by the Chinese Consulate, celebrating a newly rediscovered piece of ancient Chinese art. The rest, as they say, is history."_

_Mozzie turned the knob on his typewriter and slid the paper out, adding it to a growing pile by his side._

_He got up and walked over to a tall, old-style, wooden filing cabinet. He pulled open a drawer, his fingers nimbly finding the proper place, at which point he inserted his bunch of typewritten papers._

_He closed the drawer with a quick smile. Hidden among piles and piles of other old, typewritten papers, it was the best place to keep state secrets. Safes were so overrated._

_At some point, he'll write the rest of the story. Like how they got those millions out of the consulate. But that would have to wait for another day. For now, he planned to meet up with Neal. The criminal mastermind had a new job for his flashy thief._

THE END


End file.
